


The Right Thing

by silversun07



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: Betaed, Canon-Typical Violence, Completed, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, no spoilers for Part II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversun07/pseuds/silversun07
Summary: Moments after Sam and Henry's deaths, Ellie knows what she wants to do. Joel disagrees.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 159





	The Right Thing

The room smells of carnage, gunsmoke, and vegetable soup. A bloody mist hovers in the air, suspended in the morning sunlight filtering through dirty window panes, slowly freckling over the two collapsed bodies on the floor. The larger one, a rugged young man, slumps on one side of the room, a viscous stream of blood dribbling from the hole in his head and down the side of his cheek, face still twisted in anguish after death. The other one, a small boy in a red jacket, lies in the center of the room, monstrous veins bunching and bulging from his smooth, brown skin. Blood trickled from his bloodshot eyes and the corners of his open mouth, gums receded and teeth bared.

The vegetable soup still sat on the camping stove burner, steaming, the sound of its merry bubbling creeping through the deafening silence. The pistol remained in the palm of the man's hand, his finger hooked around the squeezed trigger. Somewhere outside, a robin sang to the new day.

Joel thinks Ellie says his name, but he's not sure. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, and his boots carry him forward, thunking across the wooden floorboards. He avoids the blood pooling underneath the bodies of the friends they once knew. He reaches down, plucking the pistol from Henry's fingers, as if it were a baby rabbit in need of comfort. He releases the cartridge from the bottom of the plastic grip, pocketing it in quiet reverence. He flicks the safety back on with a satisfying click, and wipes the blood and soot from the barrel on his faded bluejeans. Despite the shockwaves rippling through his body, his gut stays tight and his teeth gritted, following through the mechanical motion of stowing the pistol in the back of his belt, just as he has done plenty of times before.

She's talking to him. Asking him questions. Joel looks to her, the collar of her shirt torn, small throat gasping for air. Her green eyes are wide, brimming with tears, darting back and forth between him and their companions now dead on the floor. She's panicking, and he knows there's nothing he can do to stop it.

"What do we do, Joel?" Ellie asks, voice as tight as the muscles in her core, her teenage frame trembling and pale. "What… What do we do?"

He knows she won't like the answer. She hasn't liked anything he has said so far, and now would be no different. So he saves his breath, walking over to the roiling pot of vegetable soup and turning off the knob.

"Joel!" Ellie snaps at him, her fists and lips curling. "Fucking answer me!"

He looks to her again, his worn face impassive to her frustration.

"First," he says, low and terse. "You will calm down."

"Calm down?" she barks back. "Joel, Sam and Henry, they--"

"And then," he cuts in, ignoring her protest. "We will move on."

"Move…" she begins to say, confusion sinking in as she flits from one emotion to the next, unable to hide the way it skitters across her face. Her eyebrows crease and her freckled nose scrunches as she struggles to put together everything that just happened, when a heavy anvil seems to pass over her. Ellie is suddenly steady, firm, and she looks at Joel square in the eye.

"I want to bury them."

"Ellie…" he begins, but she marches up to him over the soup, stubborn and bold.

"I want to bury them, Joel. It's the right thing to do."

"The right thing…" he starts again, but shakes his head with a dismissive grunt. "The right thing, Ellie, is to--"

"Is to bury them," she finishes for him. "We didn't get the chance with Tess. So I want to do it for them."

"Don't you start with Tess," he growls, a subtle warning he has given her on more than one occasion.

"I'm not," she replies, voice cracking. "I just want to do what is right. Please."

Once, he thinks that he might have understood why it was so important to her. Now, he doesn't see the point. Not when the last fistful of dirt he ever threw was onto his own daughter's body.

Joel's eyes drift down at the soup, now simmering. There are white bone fragments among the beans and peas. He puts the steel lid over the pot.

"We can't eat this," he says.

Ellie's fierce green eyes bore into him deeper still.

He sighs. "Fine. We'll bury 'em."

She waits, thinking he will change his mind, but he says nothing more. She draws a breath. "Okay."

She turns again to Sam's body. A pool of blood drains from the gaping hole in his chest, killed by his very own brother.

+++

Ellie slams the iron spade into the earth. She digs and she lifts at the fibrous root tendrils of the thick prairie, a cluster of biting insects swarming to the sweat on her brow. She swats them away with blistering hands so Joel can't see her brush away the furious tears from her stinging eyes. Cicadas pulse and whine and she hates them.

Joel is as hard and sure as a horse, working the tough soil as sweat drenches his armpits and beads down his pulsing jugular vein.

They dig in toil and they dig in silence.

It's agony.

The late summer sun beats red on the back of Ellie's neck. Her arms wither over the handle of her shovel as she steps back. She pants while glaring at the ground.

Joel pauses. He crosses over to the grave she is digging for Sam and plunges his shovel in. In three scoops, he digs up more than Ellie has accomplished for the past half hour.

"Stop," Ellie mutters, still bent over her shovel. Her voice quivers. "I can do it, Joel."

He ignores her. Sweat trickles down his spine and stains the back of his olive green shirt. Dry earth clings to the dark hair on his arms.

"Joel, I can do it," Ellie says again, firmer this time.

Joel doesn't pause. "It's okay, Ellie. You don't have to."

"I want to. It was my idea."

"And that's fine. But you need a break."

"No, I don't, " Ellie decides. She picks up her shovel again and moves alongside him, widening the hole. He takes a step back as she flings dirt at his boots. "See? I'm fine."

He frowns. He knows he should stop her; she is putting herself at risk for heatstroke. Her face is as flushed as her red shirt. He knows he could tell her to lose the long-sleeve layer underneath it, but if she hasn't done it yet, he knows she won't. She wants to keep the scar she has hidden, and for good reason. He wants to help her, but he remains silent. He isn't her father.

"Fuck!" Ellie yelps as a sharp, startling pain sears through her hand and drips with bright red blood. She hurls the broken shovel away. "Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck! Goddammit!"

She kicks up the dust and throws stones into the distance. She howls, face red with anger and exhaustion, doubling over and clutching her hand to her chest in pain.

"Fuck! Shit! God fucking dammit!"

Joel plunges his shovel into the unearthed mound and approaches her. "Let me see, Ellie."

"Go away, Joel."

He comes closer.

"I said, go away!"

He comes closer still.

"Go away!" she screams at him. "Go away, go away, go away, go away!"

Her bloodied fist beats on his chest, but it doesn't hurt. He has taken more pain than any parent should. And maybe that is why when Ellie's fury disintegrates to sobbing, he puts his arms around her without saying anything at all.

"It's… It's not fair," she whimpers. "Why… Why did it have to be Sam?"

He sighs. He doesn't have an answer. No child should be stolen like that from the world.

"Let me see your hand," he replies instead, and releases her. "Pop a squat."

This time, Ellie does as he suggests, sitting down on the pathetic dirt pile she has made. She holds her blistered hand out to him, the bright red blood shining in the afternoon sun. Joel drags his canvas backpack near them and kneels down to inspect her wound. She winces as he wipes away the blood with a clean bandanna. He's careful not to touch any of it.

"It ain't deep, just a bleeder," he remarks. He presses the bandanna to it and she bites her bottom lip. Keeping pressure, he reaches another hand into the backpack and passes her a canteen. "Take this."

She doesn't object. She unscrews the cap with her free hand and chugs. It's the first water break she has taken all day.

"Okay," Joel says, patting the cut and checking for fresh blood. “Tell me what’s next.”

"I know first aid, Joel," Ellie replies with a soft roll of her eyes. She's been trained for this. Growing up in a collapsed society fighting between the military and wilderness had that effect on what remained of America's youth.

"Okay," he says again. "So show me."

"I need to clean it," she replies. Her arm shakes as she pours the canteen over the cut, the warm water dribbling over and splashing on her sneakers. She inhales on its contact, still stinging, but fights through it. "Then… Then, we use an antibiotic."

Joel dabs his pinky finger into a small container with sticky jelly and slathers it across her palm.

"Then, what?" he asks softly. He swears he can feel a gentle breeze on the back of his neck now that they have both stopped working.

"Then, we secure a bandage," Ellie says. Her voice slowly returns to normalcy, devoid of doubt or suffering. "And redress as needed to prevent infection."

"Right you are, kiddo. A-plus."

Just as she says, he wraps a firm bandage around her hand, but one that isn't so tight her fingers swell. He notices how her hands, while so small compared to his, are equally roughened by small scars and calluses. This cut would just be another to add to a lifetime's worth of injuries.

He picks up his shovel and starts to dig again. This time, Ellie does not protest. Instead, she just watches him, grateful for the meditative rhythm of iron and earth.

+++

Dusk settles in by the time Ellie and Joel finish the graves. They pause at the top of the radio tower's staircase as Joel's hand rests on the doorknob.

"Ready?" he asks.

Ellie nods, her brow firm. "Ready."

He opens the door. Ellie holds her breath, expecting the sickly-sweet odor of decaying flesh to be trapped in the sun-struck room, but it doesn't come. The air is stale and stuffy, and reminiscent of something metallic from the spilled blood now drying into the wooden floorboards, but not putrid like she expected.

"Spores already," Joel mutters, pulling on a gas mask. Minuscule, yellow particles float about the enclosed room like a fine dust. "Go grab Sam's sleeping bag. It will be easier to carry them down the stairs that way."

"Okay," Ellie replies, inhaling the spores and immune to their effects. Regardless, she keeps her distance from Sam's body, walking around him and to the room he had slept in only a few hours ago.

But, Ellie wonders, did he even sleep? She stops at the desk in the middle of the room, where canned tomatoes and peaches are stacked. A ratty notebook with Sam's handwriting counts their inventory from the day before. Ellie can almost hear his voice again, replaying their conversation from less than 24 hours ago.

"What if the people are still inside?" Sam had asked her, struggling to come to terms with the awful world they lived in. "What if they're trapped in there, without any control of their body? I'm scared of that happening to me."

"Okay, first of all, we're a team now," she had told him. "We're gonna help each other out. And second, they might still look like people, but that person is not in there anymore."

In the silence that now consumes the room, Ellie can’t help but wonder if things would change if she had told him any different. If she only knew he was infected, she would have stayed with him. She would have made sure that when he slipped away and the infection took over his brain, that he wouldn't have been alone.

She had let him suffer from her worst fear.

"Ellie? You doing okay?" Joel calls from the other room.

"Just fine," Ellie replies. She shakes her head. She can't dwell on it. She can't change it. She wishes it had been her and not Sam that was bitten. Just as she wished it had been her and not Tess, along with her and not Riley… Ellie didn't know if she would ever get used to these thoughts.

She finds Sam's sleeping bag in the corner of the room far away from the window. Her toe kicks something and she looks down at the plastic Transformers toy in pieces on the floor. She picks it up, clicking the tiny pieces together, like popping a dislocated joint back into place. She stows the toy into her backpack and zips it shut.

Ellie grabs Sam's sleeping bag and drags it into the main room. On the opposite end, Joel zips Henry into his own sleeping bag.

"Hey," Ellie says, pointing back with her thumb at the desk of canned goods. "What should we do about all that food?"

Joel leans on one knee. "We’ll take some, but it’s too much to carry for just the two of us. Leave it.”

"They said there were others," Ellie offers, hopeful. "I mean, it would be a nice surprise, wouldn't it? Finding all that food?" 

Joel mutters something, but he turns his back to her before Ellie can make out what he says. She tries to ignore him, but even as she starts to shift Sam's body into the sleeping bag, she knows that there are no other survivors. Outside of the Pittsburgh quarantine zone, it was now just her and Joel. The metal would rust away from the canned food and everything inside would rot and turn to dust… just as Sam and Henry's bodies would do when they buried them six feet deep.

Ellie is careful to move Sam's body into the sleeping bag, as if she might accidentally wake him up. She even watches his eyes, now closed and crusted over in waxy fungus, like they would flutter open at any moment. Dried, bloody tears are still caked on his sallow cheeks. It isn't him, Ellie has to remind herself, squeezing the nylon fabric together, it isn't Sam.

Joel comes near, but not too close, eyeing the pool of blood where Sam's body once lay. "How you doing? Sure you can carry it?”

"I’ve got it," Ellie snaps, securing the metal zipper.

"Okay, okay. Let me get to the bottom of the stairs, and then you come down after."

Ellie nods and watches as Joel squats to the sleeping bag that contains Henry's body. He hefts it over his shoulder with a grunt, stumbles for a moment, and then finds his footing. Ellie listens as his boots thump down each wooden step of the radio tower.

"All right!" Joel hollers. "Come on down."

Like Joel, Ellie hauls Sam's body over her shoulder, inhaling at the sudden weight and trying with all her leg strength to remain steady. She leans and stumbles, but holds her ground, exhaling at last.

"Jeez, Sam," she remarks. "You gotta lay off the blueberries."

Getting him down the stairs is not any easier. Ellie leans against the wooden banister, teeth clenched and trying not to fall; it probably didn't matter if she dropped the body, but it would have felt like an insult if she did.

"You're doing great!" Joel yells from below.

"Shut up!" Ellie barks back. She can't even see how much farther down she needs to go, the slick sleeping bag fabric slipping in her grasp so she now carries it in front of her with both arms. More than once, her back foot slips and she gasps in surprise, and by the time she reaches the bottom she is breathless.

"I got it," Joel says, reaching for Sam's body before her arms give out. "Catch your breath." 

"Thanks," Ellie replies. She leans on her knees, gasping, and is surprised when Joel doesn't move. Instead, he is looking down at where Sam's face would be, concealed by the red nylon of the sleeping bag. For a brief moment, his stern brow relaxes and he suddenly looks like a much older man. Maybe it's the sun setting behind him, or the shadows darkening the crow's feet at his eyes, or maybe it's because Ellie has never seen him look so forlorn before.

As if… As if the way he held Sam reminded him of someone else.

Ellie clears her throat. "So. I guess we should, uh…"

"Right," Joel is swift to reply, blinking glassy eyes rapidly and turning on his heel towards the graves. "Let's go."

+++

The brothers lay quiet and still in the cool earth. Dusk settles in, cloaking them in the dark shadow of night. Crickets take over the droning cicadas, filling the gaps with a peaceful cadence.

"I never know what to say at these things," Ellie blurts out. She fidgets with her hands. Even in the dark, she can't look directly at the graves.

Joel grunts. "Me neither."

"So… What do we do?"

He stares at her as she looks upon him with wide, glistening green eyes. His hard-pressed lips twitch and he knows he should profess some advice, but he doesn't have any. Words of comfort were never his strong suit. What was strong were his hands, callused and scarred, now picking up the shovel to quietly push the dirt over the bodies.

Sam and Henry were their leads for finding the Fireflies. They were headed out west, but who really knew where? Denver? Phoenix? Seattle? Los Angeles? How they had managed to get out of Boston was pure chance, and it was all beginning to feel like a wild goose chase. He couldn't do this forever. Ellie, just like any other smuggling job, was a package to be delivered.

She deserved someone who would know what to say during the funeral of a friend.

Joel glances at her out of the corner of his eye as he fills the graves, and she isn't looking at them. Ellie fiddles with a Firefly necklace Joel didn't notice she was wearing. She runs her thumb over the worn, dented surface.

Joel turns away. Her history is not his business. Knowing it would make their time together more complicated.

"Hey," he calls, soft, and resting the spade in front of his toes. "Sure you don't wanna say nothing?"

Ellie shoves the necklace back into her shirt, as if she had been caught doing something she shouldn't have. She bites her lip and crosses her arms, brow furrowed.

"What if it had been us?" she asks.

"'Scuse me?"

"What if…" Ellie fumbles, hesitating at Joel's stiff response. "What if it had been you and me instead of Sam and Henry?"

"But it ain't," Joel replies with a shake of his head. "Couldn'ta been."

"How do you know?"

"You're immune, Ellie. Things wouldn't have happened the way they did if it were you and me."

"I wish they did."

"No," Joel snaps. His hand reaches out to her shoulder, squeezing it firm, pulling her downcast eyes up to his. "Now why in the world are you thinking about something like that?"

"It's just…" she begins, and then hesitates. It isn't fair. It doesn't make any sense. It's not right. She thinks about saying all of these things, but shakes her head. "You're right. It's nothing."

She dismisses it, casting a forlorn gaze to the graves, as if they were having a redundant argument and she was done trying to explain her side.

Joel's lips tighten. "We're not dropping this just yet."

"And why not?" Ellie snaps back, brushing his concerned hand off of her shoulder. She glares hard at him, instantly hostile. "I don't wanna fucking talk about it, okay?"

Joel straightens with a long inhale and short exhale. He crosses his arms. "Fine."

"Fine."

"Well, if that's all there is to say and you don't wanna say nothing to them, then you can start collecting wood for a fire tonight."

"Whatever," Ellie scoffs with a shrug. She turns on her heel with her hands jammed in her pockets before Joel can get in another word edgewise, but he knows there's no point or reason to. As long as she didn't run away, he had no business trying to be her friend. She was a teenager, but she was just like any other smuggling job. All he had to do was get her to the Fireflies.

Joel stands alone before the graves. He tilts his head down, the moonlight catching the broken glass of his wristwatch. He closes his eyes, and he swears he can feel his daughter's ghost, holding his hand. It takes the courage of more than one person to bring the apology to his lips.

"I'm sorry."

+++

It was hard for Ellie to believe that summer was coming to an end. She watches, transfixed at the way the sickly yellow color of the maple leaves above her head bleeds into the green, its seasonal life dripping away. She sits on a large rock with her knees tucked up to her chest and her arms propped on top of them, her thoughts washed out by the splashing creek below her. For just a few moments, she could relax.

While she had not explored the woods as a child, there was something innately calming about being immersed in all things green and abundant with life.

Life… That was about to give way to autumn, and then winter, and then death.

She tries not to pick at the scar on her arm. She was surrounded by death. Maybe that was why she liked losing herself to the woods; the water, the trees, and all the animals could be a cushion to the very force trying to kill her. She had to stay alive, afterall. She was destined to save what was left of humankind.

A heavy plunking and swooshing tells her that Joel is wading near from upstream. Ellie sighs, unfolding herself, but not budging from the rock.

"Sorry," Joel says, ducking towards the shore, the water up to his knees. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"No, no," Ellie says quickly. "It's fine. I was just about done anyways. Let's get moving."

She slides off the rock and into the water, the cold, sandy bottom rushing between her toes. Ellie follows him as they wade to an equally sandy shore blooming with late-season goldenrod, fragrant bergamot, and orange milkweed. Joel, bare-chested, buttons up his green check by the bright light of the midmorning sun as Ellie puts her socks on.

"Hey, Ellie, about last night…" he begins as she starts to lace her black sneakers. She doesn't pause, but she doesn't ignore him, either, turning her head ever so slightly. "I know we don't see eye to eye on much."

A sarcastic smirk pulls at the corner of her lip. "Or anything, really."

"But there's one thing I'm gonna tell you, and I'm only gonna tell you once."

Ellie's smirk fades and she stands up before him, no different than the night before. But instead of graves, there was a creek and butterflies and sunshine, and dreams of death felt far away.

"Okay," she replies, cautious but intrigued. "I'm listening."

"It's something someone once told me. And I wouldn't be telling you unless I thought you could use it."

"I said I'm listening, Joel."

"It's that…" Joel licks his parched lips, leaning close, his hand on her shoulder once again. "It's that if there comes a time you think about giving up… Don't. Don't go quietly. You fight it, you understand me? Fight it even if you think you've got nothing left. Fight it even when it feels wrong. You rage against whatever dying light is thrown your way."

She doesn't say anything at first, waiting for him to finish, face impassive. He releases her shoulder and takes a step back.

Her green eyes flicker to him. "You said… You said someone told you that?"

Joel hefts his backpack onto his shoulders and nods. "Yep."

"Who?"

"My brother," Joel replies, squinting at the sun, inwardly assessing the time. “I think, uh, it’s a poem of some sort, actually… Don’t really remember the whole thing, just them parts…”

“Well…” Ellie says, her hand tightening on the strap of her backpack. “He seems like, uh… kind of a wise guy?”

The corner of Joel’s lip twitches up and he scoffs. “Tommy’s a fool. You’ll see that soon enough when you meet him.”

Ellie shrugs.

“You ready to get a move on?”

Ellie hesitates. She looks over her shoulder to the gentle creek and beyond it. A radio tower stands in a blue sky over a mile away, with blood stained into the floorboards and a crusty pot of vegetable soup. And underneath the radio tower in the abandoned wheat fields, the farmer long since passed, are the graves of two more dear friends left behind.

"Yeah," Ellie replies. Her hand tightens on the strap of her backpack and she walks past him, her head down. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thanks for reading this little piece. I've been meaning to post it here for a while, ever since someone over on /r/thelastofus gave me the idea for it. Special shoutout to mishaberlioz and another beta (who prefers to remain anonymous) for being a second pair of eyes and giving me the confidence to post.


End file.
